Divine Contract
by Clashing Harmony
Summary: When the brothers are attacked by demons, leaving Sam fatally wounded, Dean makes a deal with Gabriel to save his brother. His soul for Sam's life. Dean must form a soul-bond with the naive, confused baby-angel Castiel, Heaven's golden-boy and the key to an ancient prophecy, in return for his brother's life. Dean/Castiel
1. Prologue

"_Sammy!"_ Dean cried, fighting desperately to get to his brother through the throng of demons surrounding him in all directions. The damned things just refused to die! No matter how many of them he gutted, there were always more, dashing at him with an almost animalistic fervour. Demons weren't usually like this. They were psychotic, bloodthirsty sons of bitches, yes, but they were also sarcastic and deliberate, taking pleasure in the pain they inflicted, savouring it, bit by bit. These _things _surrounding him, surrounding them, had the hellish black eyes of demonic possession, but they lacked the finesse or deliberation of most demons Dean had encountered before. They were more like wild animals in a frenzy, attacking in packs, baying for blood, going in straight for the kill.

One of the many demons attacking his brother, overwhelming him with their sheer numbers, had just stabbed him in the back with a jagged, rusty old knife – _fucking coward_! Sam let out an agonized howl of surprise and pain, before crumpling to the ground like so much dead weight. Not satisfied with having overpowered the hunter, the demon continued to twist the knife in deeper, drawing moans of pure agony for Sam, who could no longer gather the energy even to scream.

Dean _roared_, slicing through the demons like a man possessed, fighting tooth and nail to get to his fallen brother. He could not let this happen; would not allow Sammy to die like this, right before his eyes, writhing in pain, his life snuffed out slowly, torturously by some sadistic spawn of hell.

By the time he reached Sam's prone body, the numbers of the demonic horde had diminished significantly, most having been killed during Dean's frenzied dash to reach his brother while the others escaped into the night, or smoked out to find better meat-suits, leaving the injured ones behind to bleed out on the forest floor.

Dispatching the last remaining stragglers with a few efficient strokes of his blade, Dean finally let the knife drop out from between his slack fingers, dropping down to his knees beside Sam, who was lying in a pool of his own blood, his skin clammy and deathly pale from the blood loss.

Sam's breaths were coming in shallow gasps, as more of the precious liquid seeped out from the wound at his back, soaking the worn fabric of his shirt. He twitched slightly, trying to look at his brother, his body writhing in renewed agony from the movement.

"Don't move, Sammy," Dean exclaimed hurriedly, putting a gentle hand under his brother's head to ease his movements. "I'll get you outta here before you know it. You'll be just fine, little bro!" he said, forcing a tight smile onto his face, voice hitching with choked sobs.

"D-Dean," Sam gasped, his voice pained, beads of sweat appearing on his forehead. He reached out and grasped the other's outstretched hand with surprising strength, forcing Dean to look him in the eye. "D-Don't do anything s-stupid. Do you hear me? Y-You have to move on. You have to!" he finished with a final pained gasp, wide eyes gazing at his brother with genuine concern, even through his own pain.

"_Sammy no!_ You'll be just fine! You'll see. I'll-I'll..." Dean trailed off, running his fingers through his brother's damp hair, trying in vain to comfort the man whom he couldn't help but think of as a little boy still, as his little brother, his to protect, his responsibility. Even as the words left his mouth, he knew he couldn't do it, he couldn't save Sam. Not this time. Not anymore.

They'd been waylaid in the middle of the forest by this frenzied horde of demons, taken completely by surprise. The Impala had been nearly destroyed. It was a miracle – and the result of decades of ruthless training – that either of them had escaped alive from the attack. _'Dammit!' _Dean cursed himself internally. He should have expected this, should have known that son of a bitch Crowley wouldn't let an attack on his stronghold go unanswered. They should never have let that bastard escape in the first place. They should've killed him once and for all when they had the chance, instead of making useless deals and bargains, which never ended up the way they were supposed to anyway. _He_ should've killed him.

But instead he had fallen for Crowley's sweet-talking, his fucking mind games, again and again. Crowley had promised he could bring Dad back, could release him from the pits of Hell in return for their help in defeating Lilith, so that he could take her place at the helm of Hell.

He had been a fool, an utter idiot to put his faith in a demon, of all things! As if that bastard Azazel had not been enough of a lesson. Even dead, the thought of that yellow-eyed piece of shit who had killed their mother made Dean's blood boil.

Even though Crowley had broken his promise after Lilith's death (big surprise there), their attack on the Gates of Hell had helped release John Winchester's soul. Even though he was still dead, at least his soul was now in Heaven, where it belonged.

What it had also done was raze a large chunk of Crowley's demonic hordes, and throw Hell into chaos. They had almost managed to gut Crowley himself, but the slippery bastard had escaped from between their fingers at the last moment, when Sam and Dean had been distracted by the sight of their father's soul appearing before them.

And now, of course he was out for their blood! Of course Crowley wanted revenge on the Winchesters for throwing his reign into chaos even before it had properly begun! How could Dean have expected otherwise? How could he not have known what was going to happen? How could he have let this happen to Sam? To the only family he had left on earth? What would Dad say if he knew Dean had let him down again? That he had let some demon scum get to Sammy, his brother, his only responsibility! Without the Impala, there was no way to get Sammy out of this godforsaken forest. And even if he could somehow manage that, the wound was too deep. It would be too late by the time they got to a hospital. Dean knew all this, understood it logically, but even so, in his heart of hearts, he could not bring himself to give up on his little brother, to accept the fact that Sam was as good as dead.

Dean was jerked out from the bitter depths of his own thoughts by the sudden movement before him. Sam was thrashing now, fighting to draw breath, his movements pained and jerky. Even as Dean dove forward to support his brother, to hold him up in his arms, to do _something_ to relieve his suffering – a rasping, gurgling sound escaped Sam's throat, blood pouring out of his mouth, until finally, with one last painful gasp, Sam's body stilled. His eyes rolled up, the quick, shallow rise and fall of his breast ceased once and for all and all signs life left his body as if they'd never been.

Dean just sat there, on his knees on the dirty forest floor, the fallen branches and sharp rocks digging into his skin through the fabric of his jeans, leaving scratches and cuts that he barely noticed. His arms were wrapped tightly around his brother's prone body, holding him up, his deathly stillness mirroring that of the man in his arms, save for the sudden, violent shivers that ran down his spine every now and then. A few tears occasionally trickled down his wide, unseeing eyes, leaving wet tracks along his grime-covered face, before falling off his chin onto the forest floor, unnoticed.

To Dean, it was as if time itself had come to a stop. His muscles were frozen in place, he couldn't bring his body to move. He felt as though his blood had frozen in his veins. Even drawing breath seemed like a belated afterthought. He supposed this was what it felt like to be in shock, but he couldn't be sure. He had been too little to understand much when his mother had died, and he'd been injured and unconscious when he lost his father. Sam though, Sammy was all that he had left on this earth, his only family. Protecting him, keeping him safe and by his side had been Dean's only mission in life, his greatest task, his most important achievement.

And now Sam was gone, and Dean didn't know what else he had to live for, anymore. What did you live for, when all that you cared for was taken away from you, one by one? What was the point of life when the most important thing in your life had been snatched away, lost forever?

He would've made a deal for his brother's life without a second thought, like he had done once before, if he thought that any crossroads demon would respond to his summons. But this was Crowley's doing, his demons had killed Sam. That Dean was still alive was bad enough. What demon would risk its life by going against the King of Hell and offering to bring Sam back, in return for Dean's tattered, broken soul? And he had nothing else to offer for his brother's life. Besides, the Winchesters were too notorious, after their attack on the Gate of Hell. Even one's soul wouldn't be temptation enough to give the other another chance at life, another chance to storm Hell to rescue his brother once again, as they had tried to rescue their father.

All these thoughts ran through Dean's mind even as he sat on the forest floor in a daze, unseeingly looking at the maze of trees in front of him, his brother's body in his arms. All the logic, all the knowledge and reason in the world couldn't convince him that Sam was truly gone. That there was really nothing Dean could do to save his baby brother this time. The stubborn, unreasonable hope in the pit of his stomach simply refused to die, refused to accept his brother's fate. Even now, he expected to see Sam open his eyes, to say his name any moment. He closed his eyes, envisioning his brother alive and well again. Not a dead weight in his arms but healthy and walking, climbing into the Impala beside him, laughing at something Dean had said, his expressive eyes twinkling with humour and mischief.

Tears trickled past Dean's closed eyelids even as the vision started to fade, but he refused to open his eyes. He couldn't face the world anymore. Couldn't face reality, and see his brother's corpse lying in his arms. Suddenly, the world seemed too much. Everything seemed too much and he squeezed his eyes shut as hard as he could, almost making himself dizzy with the effort, in an illogical but desperate bid to make the world fade away, to make everything disappear and to disappear with it, once and for all, never to wake up again.

"Please. Someone. _Save him_," he whispered hopelessly, his eyes still determinedly shut and his voice choked with tears. "I'll do anything. ANYTHING! Just please, bring him back..." he prayed desperately to no one in particular, for he didn't know anyone who would listen.

Had his eyes not been shut so tightly, the fierce, all-consuming light that pierced through his scrunched eyelids would have blinded Dean. As it was, the force of it pushed him back onto his heels, instinctively gathering Sam's body closer to his chest, even though the latter didn't need his protection anymore.

Surprised, Dean's eyes flew open, looking around himself for the source of the sudden illumination. Not because he was afraid, Dean was beyond fear at this point; but because for some strange reason, the tiny ray of hope that had taken up residence at the pit of his stomach and stubbornly refused to leave even when all hope seemed lost, had suddenly blossomed into a full-blown fire inside his chest, warming him from the inside out, seeming to warm even Sam's cold body with its unrelenting heat and intensity.

The blinding light that he had sensed through his closed eyelids was now gone, leaving a faint, dilute illumination at the distance, like the light of a rather weak lamp, silhouetting two strange figures in the middle of the forest with what appeared to be...wings!

– X –


	2. The Angel Gabriel

At the sight of the mysterious strangers, Dean jumped instinctively to his feet, snatching up his fallen knife from the forest floor and taking up a protective stance in front of his brother's prone body.

"Who the fuck are _you_?" Dean growled at the shadows, his voice almost feral with rage and frustration. All the sadness and pain he felt at the loss of his brother seemed to have turned into sheer, unadulterated fury at the sight of these unwelcome intruders.

The shorter of the two, who could've been no taller than five foot five, came forward, walking closer with an arrogant panache – his back straight, his head thrown back with an amused smile, somehow managing to look down his rather sharp nose at Dean, despite being significantly shorter than him. Dean could see no wings on him, though. It must've been a trick of the light, he thought.

The short guy's carefree manner somehow managed to enrage Dean even further, his knowing smile almost like salt on his wounds; and he stepped forward too, gripping the knife a little more tightly.

_"__Answer me you bastard!"_ Dean roared once again, readying himself for a fight.

"There there Dean-o," cooed his companion, extricating what looked like an orange Popsicle from one pocket and popping it into his mouth. "What's with all the roaring and growling? That's not very civilized, is it? We're all gentlemen here, we can work this out in a gentleman-like manner," he continued in a fake-soothing voice, his manner rife with condescension.

"Oh yeah?" hissed Dean, eyes flashing, his voice several octaves lower than it had been before, and several times more dangerous. "So why don't you get your boy-toy over there and take your civilized ass back into whatever hole it'd crawled out of?" he demanded harshly.

"Tut-tut Dean-o," admonished the other man, his hazel eyes dancing with mirth. He seemed to be getting off on Dean's obvious discomfiture. "Is that any way to talk to the only person in the world who can help you? I don't think so, m'boy!"

Dean's breath caught in his throat, his fingers twitching around the knife they held. He didn't know what to make of the man before him. How in Hell did the guy find out his name anyway? He was rather small in size, and he didn't seem to be carrying any obvious weapons. Not that that was saying much. Dean knew more than most how well a weapon could be concealed when concealment was desired. The other guy, who hadn't moved an inch from his original position, was wearing a huge-ass coat that almost covered his slender frame from head to toe. Any amount of ammunition could be hidden inside it, out of sight.

That said, neither of the two seemed to be rearing for a fight. The little guy didn't even seem to have noticed the knife in Dean's hand. If he was a demon, he was either incredibly powerful or incredibly stupid, Dean decided. Not that he cared either way. Sam was gone, and Dean didn't particularly care whether or not he survived the day. At least, this way he'd go down swingin'.

"The fuck are you talking about?" Dean sneered, leaning slightly forward so as to be able to look his opponent in the eye. "No one can help me now."

"So says the guy whom we busted out of Hell not so long ago. Ingratitude, that's what I call it!" the stranger exclaimed, sighing with an air of mock exasperation.

"_What?_" Dean breathed, for the first time paying more than a cursory attention to the strangers who had intruded upon his mourning. "What did you just say?"

"Pay attention, hot-shot!" admonished the other irritably, sucking on his Popsicle with renewed gusto. "Humans these days, honestly! There used to be RESPECT, back in the day. There used to be FEAR! You saw a couple angels pop up before you, you went down on your knees grovelling for mercy. _Those were the days!_ Nowadays all they do is stand in your face, yapping away like petulant puppies. Sheesh!"

Dean had had enough of this weird guy talking nonsense. His brother was dead, and he wasn't in the mood for inane chatter.

"Are you gonna come to the point, or should I just drive this knife through your heart and be done with it?" he demanded, moving the blade in his hand to emphasize the threat.

"Well, you can drive as many knives as you please through whatever part of my anatomy you fancy, not that it'd make a difference to me," replied the stranger in a bored voice. "But that'd have to wait till we've finished our business here."

"What business?" Dean questioned suspiciously, resuming his protective stance before his brother's body.

"Why Dean-o, didn't I just tell you?" the stranger asked in a hurt voice. "We're here to help you..." and pausing a moment for dramatic effect, "To help you save your brother," he finished with a flourish, standing back contentedly to watch the effect of his words.

All the fight left Dean's body as soon as his mind registered the words that had been spoken. His breathing stilled and his grip on the knife slackened. With wide eyes, he stared at the man standing before him, trying to gauge the veracity of his claim. He didn't dare to hope, but he couldn't bring himself to completely disregard his words either. He _wanted_ to believe him, goddammit! Wanted to believe that there was still hope, that Sam could still be brought back from the clutches of death. It seemed so unlikely, too good to be true; nobody ever came out of the blue to help the Winchesters. That was _their_ job! But Dean would do anything, _anything _to get his brother back; and he would willingly give his life even for the slightest chance that Sam might be saved.

"What did you just say?" Dean rasped finally, his voice husky from suppressed tears. He stepped forward cautiously, his stance a lot less threatening than it had been moments ago, though he was still far from relaxed. "Y-you can help Sam? How? What are you? Demons? Deities?"

"Demons!" exclaimed the stranger in a scandalized tone, looking supremely offended. "Did you just call me a demon, you insolent boy?"

"Well, am I wrong?" demanded Dean suspiciously. "Coz I ain't heard of anything else that can revive the dead. So why don't you stop playing coy and start spilling? What the hell are you?"

"We're angels, I'll have you know," pronounced the stranger haughtily, his delicate nose held firmly high in the air. "Soldiers of Heaven, agents of God blah blah blah – you get the picture. We're the ones who stormed Hell and dragged your sorry ass out of perdition. And do we get any gratitude for it? No sir-ee! It's a thankless job, I tell you," he finished, sighing melodramatically.

Dean drew back slightly, gaping at the two men before him in shocked silence. He didn't know if he was supposed to laugh at the man's miserable attempt at a joke or knife the bastard where he stood. It never occurred to him to actually believe the stranger, of course. God, angels...they were fairy tales concerned mommies told their kids to help them sleep better at night – like his own mother had once told him, so long ago, that angels were watching over him. They weren't real, of course. They couldn't be. Because believing that there was no God was better than believing that He was there, that He could see all the crap that went on down here and that he simply didn't care.

"You're _what_?" Dean repeated dazedly, on the off-chance that he might have misheard the dude. "Say that again."

"Umm...are you deaf?" asked the stranger, squinting doubtfully at Dean, as if _he_ were the crazy one in this gathering. "Didn't I just tell you? We're Angels! I'm Gabriel, the Messenger of God. That guy over there? That's baby bro Castiel, the Angel of Thursday and one of Heaven's best soldiers. And there're plenty more where we came from," he assured Dean, nodding sagely up at the cloudy sky above. "There's a whole Host of us, though most haven't been down to the dustbowl in quite a while now."

"Oh yeah?" snorted Dean, looking the other man up and down derisively. "Angels are you? Aren't you guys supposed to be small and fluffy, with wings and halos and stuff, and sit on people's shoulders playing harps and giving good advice? Sorry to break this to ya pal, but you don't look very angel-y to _me_."

"These," ground out Gabriel irritably through gritted teeth. "Are just vessels. Mortal vessels. Because your puny human brains weren't meant to handle the awesomeness and glory of our true forms, we need to appear to humans in mortal guise, lest your grey cells be deep-fried at the sight of our divine light," sighing theatrically, he continued. "Read up on your Bible, boy! Angels are the soldiers of Heaven. We're _military_," he explained importantly, sucking on his Popsicle.

"So you're wearing some poor guy's body as a meat-suit, is that it?" Dean demanded, drawing back in revulsion. "Angels or whatever, you're just demons by another name," he spat.

"Hold your horses, Dean-o!" Gabriel cautioned, raising a hand; and though his voice was light, the undercurrent of preternatural authority running through it made Dean hold his tongue momentarily. "Don't go making hasty judgements about things you don't completely understand. These," he said, indication himself and his companion angel, "Are _vessels_. They are as different from demonic 'meat-suits' as can be. These are the bodies of pious souls who _prayed_ for angelic intervention into their lives and beings. It was their greatest desire to host the grace of Angels inside their physical bodies. No Angel can possess a vessel without the host's explicit permission, freely given, for the use of their body for the fulfilment of the divine will. It is nothing like a demon possessing a hapless human to trifle with."

"So some miserable excuse for a human being actually _begged_ you to possess him?" Dean asked, too stunned to even muster the energy to properly curse the gullibility of the human race. He and his brother had spent their entire lives trying to prevent people from facing this same fate, fighting and dying for it, and for what? Just so that these idiots could hand themselves over – body and soul – to some supernatural fiends on a platter?

"There are realms of knowledge and understanding in the universe that are so far beyond your comprehension that you could spend your entire life trying to grasp a tiny fraction of it and still fail miserably, little boy," taunted Gabriel, laughing; that undercurrent of barely contained power vibrating under the surface of his skin even stronger now. "Your way of seeing the world and dealing with it is not the only way, far from it. But thankfully, it isn't my job to get intricate philosophical ideas past that thick skull of yours! I'm just here to make a simple deal with you, that even your limited intelligence should be able to comprehend easily."

"Oh yeah? First meat-suits and now deals? Honestly, I can't begin to imagine why anybody would think you're anything like a demon!" Dean taunted back, feeling the bittersweet tang of victory at the back of his throat.

His posture stiffening with sudden rage, Gabriel took a threatening step forward. "You'd better show me some respect, you insolent boy! My brethren sacrificed a lot to raise you from perdition," at this, his eyes flicked momentarily towards Castiel. "And I have the power to throw you right back in, if I have to," he finished with a low growl.

Every instinct in Dean's body was screaming at him to step back and away from the advancing predator. But Dean being Dean, he could do nothing but stand his ground stubbornly, even in the face of imminent disaster, he couldn't bring himself to bow to an opponent. He stared at Gabriel, his eyes steely, not giving an inch, until finally the Angel could no longer hold back his mirth.

"You're something else, you know that, Dean Winchester?" he said, laughing. "I can see now why Daddy chose _you_ for the job. I didn't believe it at first. I mean, what could a _human_ possibly have that _Angels_ couldn't provide? But such stubbornness in the face of absolute and inevitable destruction, that's a human quality through and through. Stupid, reckless and unpredictable as all Hell! Maybe there _is_ something to you bipedal monkeys after all, painful as it is for my dear brothers to acknowledge it."

"The hell are you yapping on about?" snapped Dean irritably, utterly confused at Gabriel's apparently incoherent ramblings.

Dean's irritated grumbling seemed to bring Gabriel back to himself. "What I'm trying to say, Winchester," he began, slowly circling Dean as he spoke, "Is that I have an offer for you. If and only if you are interested, of course. As I said, we are not demons, and we do not act without the willingly given consent of humanity. But if you are willing, I can bring your brother back to life, right now."

Dean's heart jumped to his throat. From the moment those words had left the Angel's lips, Dean's decision was a foregone conclusion. He would give _anything_ for his brother's life and safety; there could be no question about that. But he was waiting for the other shoe to drop, and forced himself not to reveal his true emotions as he asked Gabriel in a hard voice, "And what do you want in return? Let me guess! My soul, right?"

At Dean's bitter inquiry, a look of genuine surprise crossed Gabriel's face for a moment, but it was gone as soon as it had appeared and was quickly replaced by the look of condescending amusement that he had worn since the moment they had met.

"No thanks buddy. I don't deal in second hand goods," Gabriel said flippantly, his haughty air back in full force. "The favour I need from you is much simpler, actually."

"Well then, how about you stop building the suspense and spit it out already?" demanded Dean, his entire body vibrating with tension.

"I can't," said Gabriel, almost in a whisper now. "Not unless you agree to accept the deal. If you decline, it would be too much of a risk to reveal the details to you, a mere human. The fate of multiple worlds is riding on this, Winchester. This information cannot be trifled with. If you don't want to accept the deal, say so now and I will leave immediately. You will never see either of us again. But if you choose to accept the deal and save your brother, you will have to agree to fulfil our request after your brother's soul has been restored to his body."

As Gabriel spoke, Dean stared past him blankly, lost in his own thoughts. He could not be bothered to hear all of the Angel's needlessly elaborate speech. The only words that had registered to him at all were 'save your brother' and 'his soul restored to his body'. Sam could still be saved. There was still hope. He would get his little brother back. To Dean, that was all that mattered. Everything else was irrelevant. Of course Dean would do anything it took to protect Sam. Whatever the price was, it couldn't be greater than his brother's _life_! Once Sam was back, they could get through anything together, as they had always done – the Winchesters against the world.

"I'll take it," Dean finally said, in a barely audible whisper, cutting through Gabriel's steady flow of words. "I'll take the deal, whatever it is. I don't care. Just help my brother. Bring Sam back to life, that's all that matters now. I don't care what happens next," he declared brokenly.

"As you wish," said a soft, gravelly voice from behind Gabriel. Looking up through misty eyes, Dean saw the trench-coat guy – the other Angel – walking towards them. Amidst all that had transpired between him and Gabriel, Dean had almost forgotten about the other one, supposedly named Castiel. But Heaven's purported Golden Boy was walking towards them now with a purposeful stride, and somehow Dean had the irrational urge to reach out and touch his back, to see if the wings he had glimpsed before had indeed been just a trick of the light.

Stomping down brutally on that particular thought, and shaking his head to clear it of the sudden dizziness that was probably the result of a long and exhausting day without any rest, Dean looked up finally at the two strangers and said with a note of resounding certainty:

"I'll do whatever it takes to save my brother."


	3. Civil War

"Atta boy!" exclaimed Gabriel, seemingly having regained his exuberant spirits after the sudden bout of seriousness. "In that case, let's get on with business, shall we? There's no point in keeping poor Sammy waiting any longer," he said, walking purposefully towards Sam's prone body, where it lay on the mossy floor.

"Don't call him that!" Dean growled, walking with long strides to keep up with the surprisingly agile Angel. He felt overcome by a sudden rush of unexpected protectiveness toward his temporarily helpless little brother.

"Okay okay, hot-shot," smirked Gabriel, raising both hands in a gesture of mock-surrender. "Don't get you panties in a twist or anything."

Dean fumed internally but kept himself from voicing the retort that sprang automatically to his lips, as they finally came up beside Sam's body. The short Angel might've been a dick but at the moment he held Sam's life in his hands, quite literally, and Dean couldn't afford to provoke him into changing his mind. His verbal retribution could wait until Sam was alive and breathing once again.

As they stopped walking, Gabriel gestured to his companion in the trench-coat. "Wanna do the honours, little brother?"

"As you wish," replied the Angel Castiel taking a step forward, in the same soft, gravelly tone he had used before, which somehow inspired more confidence in Dean than all of Gabriel's imposing bluster combined. There seemed to be a quiet sort of reliability about Castiel that made it impossible for Dean to distrust the scrawny, dishevelled guy with a fashion-sense decades out of date.

"C-can you really do it? Can you really save him?" asked Dean, a little fearfully, now that the time for action had finally arrived. He was almost afraid to hope. He didn't think he would survive it, if after coming so close to getting his brother back, he were to lose him all over again.

"Don't you worry Dean-o!" assured Gabriel with a sudden, hearty clap to his back that made Dean almost jump out of his own skin in surprise. "Castiel here is one of the best Healers in Heaven, besides being a soldier. He'll bring your brother back in a jiffy," he said, snapping his fingers in demonstration.

Dean sighed. Not that he could blame anyone; it had been his mistake to ask Gabriel a question. Almost of their own accord, his eyes wandered over to Castiel, where the other Angel was hovering over his little brother.

As he watched, Castiel went down on one knee, kneeling noiselessly beside Sam. He was so quiet in all his movements, as though he were almost weightless, ethereal – his physical body just an illusion. Slowly, he held out both his hands, palms down, over Sam's chest, and a soft glow emanated from his outstretched palms, illuminating Sam's deathly white features. Even as they watched, the preternatural light brightened slowly until it had become almost blinding in its intensity, and Dean had to shield his eyes to keep them from being burned out by the divine glow.

"Sam! What's happening?" Dean cried, moving blindly towards his brother, unable to stand by as the mysterious light shrouded his body from view.

"Don't!" warned Gabriel, holding out an arm to block Dean's way, strong and immovable as a steel barricade.

"Let me go!" roared Dean, pushing against his captor with all his might. "That's my brother you bastard! What's he doing to him?"

"Saving him," answered Gabriel authoritatively. Then, in a softer, kinder tone, he added, "_Have faith_".

For some reason, those words froze Dean, making him stop struggling; and breathing heavily he watched transfixed as the fierce light covering Sam dimmed slowly, revealing him lying motionless and still on the floor as Castiel kneeled over him, just as they had been moments ago.

"What happened? _What the fuck did you do to him?_" Dean demanded, rushing over blindly to Sam's side and falling to his knees beside his brother, opposite Castiel. "Did it work?" he asked in almost a whisper, as if afraid to say the words out loud.

"Watch," said Gabriel softly, coming up behind Dean.

As three pairs of eyes watched him, Sam's chest began to rise and fall minutely with shallow breaths. His eyelids flickered and a soft, almost inaudible moan escaped his lips – prompting Dean to lean forward instinctively, whispering soothing words into Sam's ears.

Eventually, Sam's eyes opened fully, and the recently revived Winchester gazed around dazedly, his face a mask of utter confusion.

"Where–" he began, trying to lift himself off the ground, but before he could finish his question he was unceremoniously enveloped by a pair of very strong arms, followed by a very dusty brother. "Dean!" he exclaimed, first in surprise, but then again in relief – at finally being back at his brother's side, exactly where he belonged. The last time he saw his brother he had not been sure he would survive. Hell, he'd not been sure _Dean_ would survive, surrounded as they'd both been by wild demons. Speaking of which–

"Sam!" Dean's voice distracted him, the word coming out in a choked sob, as if wrenched out of his brother's throat by force. "Sam, thank God! You're okay. You're back!"

"Yeah Dean I'm – wait what?" Sam demanded, coming up short at Dean's words. "I'm...back? Back from where? Where had I gone?"

"I-I meant you're okay, man, ya know. I mean those demons had gotten you pretty good there–" Dean began with the feeble attempt at a joke, desperately looking for a way out.

"Put your foot in your mouth again there, didn't you Dean-o?" Gabriel asked, grinning, even as Castiel quietly averted his eyes to give the brothers some privacy.

As soon as his eyes landed on the two strangers, Sam was up in a flash, hands searching subconsciously for a weapon even as he spoke. "Dean, what the hell did you do? Who are these people? Dean, _for God's sake tell me you didn't make another deal_," he asked urgently, almost pleading.

"Sammy, listen to me. It isn't like that, I can explain," began Dean, his voice tinged with equal urgency, rising to his feet after Sam and coming to stand between him and the Angels.

"Oh yeah?" asked Sam, eyes fixed on the strangers, readying himself for a fight, his hands having finally found his discarded knife. "Explain what, huh? Explain how you sold your soul for me? AGAIN?! Explain how I'm gonna have to watch you being hunted down and torn apart by hellhounds; how I'm gonna have to live with your blood on my hands, AGAIN? _Explain that?_" Sam was screaming now, his body shaking with suppressed rage and terror at the prospect of losing his brother. "Well all of that can wait until I've knifed these bastards back to Hell, where they belong!"

"_Sam no!_" Dean exclaimed, throwing himself securely between the Angels and his brother, who seemed ready to lunge at any moment. "I'm _telling_ you, it's not like that! It's not what you think, Sammy. They're not demons."

"Then what the hell are they, huh? What did you make a deal with this time? What's worse than demons?" Sam demanded fiercely. Then, deflating as quickly as he had flown into a killing rage, he whispered in a defeated tone, "Why couldn't you just let me die, Dean?"

"Sammy! Don't you ever say that, ya hear me?" Dean growled, gripping his brother by the shoulders. "We're in this together, man! You and me, just like we always have been. I'm _never_ leaving you behind, no matter what!"

"Touching as it is, all this brotherly _passion_, the second part of our deal is still pending, remember Dean-o?" interrupted Gabriel, between fits of laughter, tears running down his cheeks. "Oh man! You two could have your own soap, you know that?" he giggled.

"_Why you filthy demon–_" Sam roared, flying at Gabriel, knife in hand.

Even as Dean reached out to stop his brother, with a flick of Gabriel's finger Sam's body froze mid-air, his arm pulled back with the knife, ready to strike.

"I'm an Angel, I'll have you know," Gabriel said primly, plucking the knife nimbly out of Sam's frozen hand. "And good boys don't play with such dangerous things," he continued, patronizingly patting Sam's head – unfreezing him with the touch.

"What've you done to my brother, you sneaky bastard?" Dean demanded, advancing towards Gabriel threateningly, even as Sam regained movement in his body, looking around himself confusedly once again.

"–the fuck just happened?" he muttered, looking down at himself with a bewildered frown. "What the hell kind of demons _are_ you?"

"For the _last_ bloody time – We. Are. Not. Demons," repeated Gabriel once again through gritted teeth, obviously annoyed. "We're Angels! And as such, can smite both your puny mortal asses to the deepest pits of Hell if you don't show us some _bloody_ respect. NOW!"

"Hey, okay man! We get it yeah? Chill," Dean muttered, both hands raised and moving imperceptibly away from the raging Angel, pulling his brother back with him.

"Angels?" Sam repeated confused, looking from Gabriel to Castiel with an air of bewildered curiosity. "As in, the Biblical kind? The soldiers of God? Heavenly Host type Angels?"

"Finally! _Someone_ who's actually _read_ the bloody Instruction Manual Daddy provided to explain the Divine shit-fest to your puny brains!" Gabriel said with what seemed like genuine relief. "Yep, that's exactly the kind we are," he finished with a mock bow.

"S-so I was saved by _Angels_?" Sam exclaimed, looking at his brother with eyes full of wonder.

"Yeah well, no need to get all gooey over it. They ain't no better than the average run-off-the-mill Hell-spawn," Dean spat scornfully.

"_Dean!_" Sam squeaked, scandalised – looking cautiously from Gabriel to Castiel for any sign of divine wrath.

"Don't worry about it," Gabriel told Sam with a longsuffering sigh. "Your brother has the manners of an ill-trained ape. In that regard he is beyond help."

"Says the guy making secret supernatural deals in the dead of the night in a forest in the middle of nowhere," countered Dean sarcastically. "Your gentleman-like manners astound me!"

"And that reminds me," interrupted Gabriel, cutting off the rest of Dean's tirade. "We have business to take care of, people. Being an Angel is hectic business, y'know. I haven't got all day."

"Dean, I don't get it. What's going on? What business is he talking about? What did you _do_?" Sam pleaded, an edge of desperation slipping into his voice as he tried to figure out the situation.

"Alrighty then, what do you want?" asked Dean stiffly, without answering Sam or even looking in his direction. His eyes met Gabriel's directly, showing courage he did not feel. Suddenly, his palms felt sweaty and his breathing quickened. A heavy weight seemed to have settled somewhere in his chest. It wasn't that he was regretting his decision. If need be, he would make this same deal a thousand times over to keep Sam safe, no matter what the consequences. But it was finally time to keep his end of the bargain, and Dean had no idea what Gabriel had in mind. Failure wasn't an option, but he wasn't sure he was capable of fulfilling an Angel's expectations. What _did_ an Angel want with a guy like _him_, anyway?

"Your soul," answered Gabriel promptly.

"_What_?" demanded Sam, stepping in front of his brother protectively, his posture defensive. He would die before watching his brother sell his soul for him once again. "I thought you said you _weren't_ Demons!"

"Oh dear Daddy! Will you _hear me out_?" asked the Angel plaintively. "I can see why those poor Demons wanted to do you two in once and for all. You try the sweetest of tempers," he moaned.

"What, like yours?" Dean smirked, but quieted quickly at Gabriel's wrathful glare.

"Zip it, Winchester," the Angel commanded. "As I was saying, I need you to form a soul-bond with my little bro Castiel, here" he said, gesturing at the other Angel, who remained as impassive as ever.

"Eh? _What_?" questioned Dean, with an air of such utter and complete confusion that Gabriel took pity on him.

"Well, see, it's like this. Daddy's been MIA for a quite while now, right around the time Jesus got himself nailed up on a Cross. Guess the shock was too much for him. Well anywho, crux of the matter is, before He left, He left some instructions for the kids back home. No fightin', no drinkin', no smitin'; you know how parents are. No fun, that's how.

"And surprise surprise. Turns out, some of the kids didn't like the rules all that much. Daddy's gone, He ain't coming back no more – so say all the rumours in the Gardens of Paradise. Some of the kids are growing restless. They wanna play by their own rules now. Re-design Heaven, reclaim the earth and get rid of all those pesky humans. Throw a big fat party to impress all the cool kids, you get the picture. Some of them want to free li'l bro Lucifer now, to realise his grand vision of annihilating the human race. Long story short – there's Civil War in Heaven, Dean-o! And the fate of the entire world, of the _universe_ as you know it, depends on which side wins."

For a moment, both the Winchesters were dumbstruck, too shocked by the story to say anything. Until now, the whole Angel thing had seemed like some kind of an elaborate dream. Even though he had seen their wings, Dean had never actually grasped the magnitude of what he was getting into, preoccupied as he had been with his brother's wellbeing. Now though, there was no getting away from it. He had bitten off a Hell of a lot more than he could ever hope to chew!

Soon however, Dean regained his voice, and began with visible bravado, "Oh yeah? And which side are _you_ on?"

"Us? Oh we're the good kids. Perfectly obedient and all that shit. Although I hear it's a lot more fun on the other side. But Mikey's in a mighty-smitey mood right now, and personally, I'd rather _not_ be blown to bits anytime soon."

"'Mikey' as in...the Archangel Michael?" asked Sam hesitantly.

"Yep. Got it in one, kiddo!" said Gabriel appreciatively. "Besides, I kinda _like_ you mud-monkeys! 'Least you're amusing, which is more than I can say for all my grumpy bros back home," he sighed.

"Even if everything you've just said is true, which for the record, I'm _very_ far from believing right now," began Dean. "Where the Hell do _we_ fit into the picture? As you keep saying, we're just puny mortals. How the effin' Hell do you expect us to help in an Angelic civil war?"

"Oh Dean-o! Such touching humility!" Gabriel sighed dramatically. "As it happens, puny humans you might be, but you're not just _any_ puny human. You're special!"

"Special how?" demanded Sam, seriously worried now. He didn't completely understand what was going on yet, but he did know that he didn't like any of it.

"Well you see, Castiel here is the youngest Angel in Heaven. He was created after dear brother Lucy fell from grace, the only Angel to have been created after the Fall. And because Daddy simply _couldn't_ resist the urge to screw us all one last time, Castiel's grace is the key to Lucifer's cage; he's the only Angel who can set Lucifer free."

At Gabriel's words, Dean's eyes snapped over to Castiel. He had always felt that there was something different about the other Angel. He seemed somehow purer than Gabriel, more innocent, more curious and less judgemental about everything he saw around him. Dean could never have imagined the actual reason for that feeling, however. It left him completely flabbergasted.

This time, Sam found his tongue before Dean. "Yeah, but all of that doesn't explain why Dean and I need to be involved in this."

"It will if you let me _finish_, for a change," snapped the older Angel. "As you can imagine, the faction of Angels that want Lucifer freed are after Castiel's grace, and that is the one thing they cannot be allowed to have. If Lucifer is freed, the human race is as good as extinct. Even if Mikey manages to beat Lucy and shove him back into the cage, the Earth will not be able to sustain the damage caused by a direct showdown between the two most powerful beings in Creation. This planet, hell, maybe the _solar_ _system _will be ancient history before you can say goose," he explained, rather enthusiastically, considering the topic.

"Well, so why don't you hide him somewhere safe then, until this whole thing blows over and we can all go back to our lives?" asked Dean.

"Hide him where? What nook or cranny of the universe is beyond the reach of half the Heavenly Host when they are determined to find their target? This constant hide-and-seek has depleted our numbers drastically; and surprising as it may seem to you, I don't exactly enjoy killing my brothers, even if they are misguided idiots," Gabriel sighed, a tinge of genuine sorrow colouring his voice for the first time.

"So what's the alternative?" asked Sam, trying but failing to think of any viable solution to the problem. How did you hide something from a bunch of super-powered beings who could go anywhere, do anything? It seemed nigh-impossible.

"There was a prophecy," began Gabriel, taking a deep breath. He seemed tired, suddenly; much older than his physical age. "_The soul that hath been tried by Hell-fire shall protect that which Divinity doth desire._"

"A soul that's been tried by Hell-fire..." murmured Sam, comprehension slowly dawning on his face.

"You got it kiddo!" said Gabriel. "No prizes for guessing who's the only living soul on Earth who's been to Hell and back, literally; and is still alive and kicking. So you see, Dean Winchester, the fate of both Heaven and Earth rests on your shoulders. The only way to prevent the rebelling Angels from getting hold of Castiel and freeing Lucifer is for you to bind your soul with his grace. That way, he will be beyond the reach of the Angels. Even if they found him, his grace being attached to your soul, they wouldn't be able to use it for their purpose. You see? Surely that's a simple enough concept even for your tiny brain to grasp without much trouble."

"But why _me_?" Dean demanded stubbornly. "Why does it have to be me? Surely you can do this same trick with almost any human on earth. Hell, I daresay you could find enough idiots on this planet who'd be _happy_ to be soul-bound with a feathery-assed Angel. And since I'm obviously not one of them, why not just let me go and find some church-going type for your job, yeah?"

"Are you really this stupid? Can it be; or is this just some elaborate facade to annoy me to death?" asked Gabriel in exasperation. "Hell, if I didn't know better, I'd say you're one of the Rebels in disguise. It's just that none of my dim-witted bros are smart enough to come up with something like this!

"An Angel's grace is powerful. Intense. Ordinary souls, being bound to an Angel's grace, would destroy themselves even before the process could be completed. Human souls were not designed to withstand that kind of pure, unfiltered energy. Usually, it'd just be too much.

"But as the prophecy says, _your_ soul has been tried by Hell-fire. You've gone to Hell and come back, relatively unscathed. If there is one soul on Earth that could survive being bound to an Angel's grace, Dean Winchester, it's yours," he declared. "So, will you keep your end of the bargain, or not?"

"Well, do I have a choice?" asked Dean resignedly, even as Sam moved closer to his brother, protectively. But even he couldn't argue that they leave the world to be destroyed when there is a chance they could help save it.

"Not unless you want Sammy here to bid farewell to the mortal realms, you don't" answered Gabriel with a casual shrug, knowing Dean's answer even before it had left his lips.


End file.
